Mechanical Magic
by Ghost in Progress
Summary: So I'd rather be a muggle then a wizard. Strange right? Well let me put in context for you. They wear bathrobes - in public. Unlucky for me, some idiot named Fudge decided I'd be safer at Hogwarts. That castle won't know what hit it.


I'm almost sure my morning had been normal that day. Scratch that. I know it was normal. I got up, got ready, did the the zombie walk to my hot coca, and sat at dining room table to wait for my brothers inevitable yells to officially wake me up. I remember the clanging of pot and pans, my Mum doing the crossword puzzle while simultaneously counseling a distraught student on the phone, my brother throwing egg bites at my Dad's newspaper.

Then it came.

(And I don't mean the pschycotic clown. Although, in retrospect, my reaction to It was the same as if I had seen a pschycotic clown). The letter. Or, I guess I should say, the owl came first. I had been under the impression that owls were nocturnal creatures, but apparently my science teacher was wrong. A large brown screech owl nosedived into my breakfast plate. My family was thrown into in shock with the exception of my father as he had yet to notice the newest addition to the family's morning meal.

"Carter? Did you just see an owl land in your eggs?" my brother asked excitied.

"Yes. Andrew, I'm not blind. Hooray!" I replied, reaching for the letter I knew I would find with trembling hands.

"This had better be good." I muttered, holding the envelope. "I thought it was agreed the magical community ignored me and I didn't hand them over to the media." I glanced over at my mother, and even she looked completely befuddled, eyes still wide from getting egg splattered all over her collared blouse. My father, however hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, and was still looking at the stock market.

The bird then decided that he didn't feel like sleeping in breakfast food, so he perked his head up and started screeching at me.

Loudly. Very loudly.

I looked back and forth from the bird to the envelope and back to the bird.

"What?"

I'll open it when I've had my hot chocolate, goddamnit! I proceeded to glare at the pathetic excuse for an owl, and resolutely began to sip my hot cocoa, without breaking our stare down.

In that moment my mother recovered from her post-trauma-bird-shock. She calmly placed her fork down, smoothed out her skirt, moved her phone over to the side, and addressed me as if I was a mental patient who hadn't taken her meds. This was not an entirely uncommon occurrence.

"Carter. Would you please open the letter? I find eardrums useful in my everyday life." She managed to say this without a hint of sarcasm or distress, in fact her face looked completely peaceful.

Well, her _face_ looked entirely peaceful, but her eyes looked murderous.

I knew that look all to well. It was the "Don't fuck with me, unless you want to be given up for adoption. Again. No I'm just kidding, but seriously don't mess with me, or I will kill you with my guidance counselor powers of mind rape!" look.

(All those emotions and feelings in that one thought. That couldn't be healthy.)

So I opened the letter. The owl rolled his eyes.

I decided to ignore the increasing abnormality, and the urge to throttle it.

The letter was just like the one when I was eleven; the paper that looked ages old, the green scribbly writing,the awkwardly specific address on the side, and that feeling of pure, complete…something. Something that made my stomach turn over, and my head spin - something indescribable at the time. The acceptance letter hadn't changed either, congratulating me on circumstances beyond my control. Inside the envelope this time however, there was a second letter on simple white parchment:

_Dear Miss Carter Hadley and the Family of Miss Carter Hadley,_

_I am deeply sorry to inform you of this, and we know you expressed the desire to remain a part of the muggle world, but some weeks ago in the Wizarding World an orphanage with fifteen muggleborns residing in it, was targeted and attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Named. (If you are unaware of who He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is, please read the information packet enclosed. It will have several points of information for you). _

_You are probably wondering why in fact we are telling you this. We at the Ministry, are extremely concerned for the safety of young witches and wizards who are muggleborn and are living with no magical wards or any other protection against the Death Eaters. (Again, information enclosed). And you, as well as several other prospective students are part of that group of muggleborns. The Minister of Magic has decreed that all underaged witches and wizards being home-schooled and/or chose to remain a part of the muggle world shall be required by law to attend a school of magical teachings, until the war has gotten considerable better and/or is over. This is so children who haven't been around the muggle world may learn about our culture and ways of life, as well have as have some control over their own magic, and have at least some defense against a dark wizard, should he attack you (the muggleborns) for prejudiced reasons. (See information packets on the history of prejudice of the magical world.)_

_We are sorry for this terrible inconvenience, and enjoy your holiday!_

_Your's sincerely,_

_Desera Metchpuck_

_DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION FOR THE MAGICAL OFFICE_

_The Ministry of Magic_

The doorbell rang. After a few moments of impatient knocking, there was a moment of silence.

Then the door promptly fell over, revealing a red-haired man in suspicious looking robes, a hat that vaguely resembled The Mad Hatters, and the largest grin imaginable on his face.

Bloody hell.

Author's note: This took a bit longer then planned so (be warned) updates should be coming sporadically. The story half serious, half parody, but we do intend to finish it. The ideas has been haunting me - a muggleborn who looks down on all magic and wisardry, that is. Reviews and commentary are appreciated. :D

Co-authored by: Ghost in Progress and Strange Small Bard


End file.
